Tina Whittle_Tai Randall Mystery 01 (11 page)

Chapter 20

The phone rang at six the next morning. It was Trey.

“Marisa has called a meeting. You need to be here.”

“Me? Why?”

“Because she said so. Nine o’clock.”

I rubbed my eyes, still thick with exhaustion. “You’re an abomination.”

“Nine.”

“Yeah yeah. I’ll be there.”

On the way across town, I stopped at a convenience store and got a pack of cigarettes, then threw away all but two. One I smoked on the way to Phoenix, the other I wrapped in tissue and left in my wallet, an emergency ration for whatever weirdness the day planned to throw in my face.

Yvonne waited for me in the lobby. I was expecting another lecture about my lack of appropriate badgewear, but she fixed me with her sweetheart eyes. “Third floor.”

The room was deserted except for Trey, who occupied one chair on the long end of a rectangular table. He had a slew of paperwork in front of him—charts, graphs, summary reports.

I sat beside him. “You have any idea what this is about?”

“No.”

“Me, either. She didn’t say anything yesterday.”

“Who?”

“Marisa. Who’d you think I meant?”

“Janie Compton.” Trey fixed me with a hard stare. “She mentioned that you spoke with her yesterday, in the bathroom. You didn’t tell me this.”

I started to reply, but before I could formulate a reasonably innocent explanation, another guy joined us. He had a nice smile, but his distinguishing feature was a mop of double-helix brown hair that tumbled over his forehead, very nearly obscuring his eyes. He stopped in the doorway, hands on hips.

Then he grinned. “Hey, Trey, how’s it going?”

Trey’s head snapped back. “What are you doing here?”

The guy shrugged. Unlike every other dapperly suited employee, he was tricked out in khaki pants and an orange shirt. No tie. I glanced at his shoes. Black athletic sandals.

“Looking for Landon,” he said.

“No, I mean what are you doing at Phoenix. You were fired.”

“Landon pulled the suspension.”

“You weren’t suspended. You were fired.”

“Landon reconsidered.”

Suddenly, I realized who this guy was. I snapped my fingers. “Simpson!”

The guy grinned. He had an exuberant smile, open-mouthed. “All my friends call me Steve. Right, Trey?”

Trey was having none of this. “Because of your blatant incompetence—”

“Oh please! I was getting coffee!” He flung a finger in my direction. “How was I supposed to know
she
would show up?”

“You disregarded our objective and jeopardized my safety.”

“Cut the crap. You’re just mad ‘’cause you got made.”

Trey stood up, dropping his shoulders and shifting his body weight. I recognized it for what it was—going into a fighting stance—and Steve actually took one step forward and all I could think was, Trey is about to mop the floor with this guy.

But then Trey closed his eyes—one second, two—and when he opened them again, that flat impassive blue was back. He exhaled, relaxed his hands, and sat back down, burying his attention once again in his paperwork.

Simpson grinned some more. “Tell Landon I was looking for him.” And then he looked at me. “Nice to meet you, Tai Randolph. Been hearing a lot about you around here.” Then he winked at me and ducked out the door.

I let out a breath. “What in the hell was that about?”

Trey didn’t look up. “I thought he was terminated. Apparently he’s not.”

“He’s the computer guy you were working with at Eric’s, right?”

“Technical specialist.”

Trey gathered his file folders into a neat stack, adjusted the edges with precise focused concentration. He had a pile of index cards that he placed right next to two mechanical pencils.

“Tell the truth,” I said. “You were going to beat him to a bloody pulp.”

A swift glance my direction, then back to his legal pad. “No, I wasn’t.”

“Yes, you were.”

“No. I wasn’t.”

“But you wanted to, didn’t you?”

He stopped rifling through papers and placed both hands flat on the table, one neatly atop the other.

“Yes,” he said. “Yes, I did.”

***

Marisa arrived thirty seconds after nine o’clock in a suit the color of white chocolate. She took a chair at the head of the table, Yvonne at her heels. Landon hung at her side, their voices a hushed tête-à-tête. When he saw me, he cut her a sharp look. She shook her head and opened her portfolio.

“It’s been a hell of a morning,” she said, “so let’s start with the latest. Detective Ryan called. He wants to set up interviews with all of you.”

Trey stopped writing. “Is this because we were all at Beau Elan on Thursday?”

I stared at him. Somehow he’d neglected to mention this choice fact in our conversations. So much for teamwork.

“So we’re suspects now?” Landon said.

“Not suspects,” Trey corrected. “Suspicious. There’s no evidence to make us suspects at this time.”

I raised my hand. “Um, excuse me, but—”

“You’ve been a suspect since you got into town,” Landon interjected.

I shot him a look. “Don’t start with me.”

“It’s immaterial,” Marisa said, putting a halt to the squabble. “Right now, I want to make it clear that all of you must be cleared of suspicion as soon as possible.”

Trey cocked his head. “The video should be proof enough.”

Marisa’s eyes flashed his way. “What video?”

“The video from the surveillance camera at the Beau Elan entrance. It records every vehicle entering or leaving. Of course the police have the original now, but we kept back-up footage at the office.”

“And what will this footage show?”

“Our arrival at Beau Elan at approximately twelve-thirty that morning. Charley Beaumont arrived at five, left at six with Landon when the police arrived. Approximately. Simpson and I finished and left for Phoenix at six-thirty. Approximately. The video will provide specific time codes.”

“Where were you?”

“In Jake Whitaker’s office.”

“With Jake?”

“No, I was alone. Jake was elsewhere on the property.”

I wanted to follow up on that idea, but Marisa had her own agenda. “So you were in that office all afternoon?”

“Yes.”

Marisa was writing everything down in her portfolio. “Charley will corroborate this story?”

“She can, yes.”

“And what about Steve?”

“He was connecting the video feeds to the security system. Which meant that he was either working in the crawlspace or in the van.”

Landon wrote something down in his notebook. “I’ll talk to him. He did the work, so I’m sure we can establish his alibi.”

Marisa nodded at Yvonne, who sent around a set of folders, each one labeled with a name—including mine. But before I could open it, Marisa rapped sharply on the table.

“Each of you has the case notes so far in front of you,” she said, making a little steeple with her fingers. “I’ve received three phone calls in the past fifteen minutes from reporters asking me to verify if Mark Beaumont has indeed hired Phoenix to investigate Eliza’s death. Which he has. “

Trey spoke up. “The police—”

“—are doing an excellent job, yes, but Mark feels it’s his duty to contribute. He’s giving a press conference in one hour, and we’re going to be there.”

I lifted the edge of my folder, tried to peek inside.

Marisa kept talking. “I don’t mind admitting that we are out of our league here. We specialize in protecting our clients from such crimes, not mopping up afterward. But this is what Mark wants.”

And, I thought, what Mark wants, Mark gets.

Trey’s eyes snapped up from his paperwork. “But I don’t do investigations.”

“You do now.”

“But—”

“No buts. They know you at the APD. You’re a hero down there, and we need that kind of connection right now.”

He looked back down at his notepad and said nothing, but his right hand toyed with his pen, tap-tap-tapping on the clean lined paper.

Marisa continued. “One more thing. Mark has requested that Janie Compton be included in any briefings that we offer him, as a special courtesy. Which is why Tai is here.”

I looked up from my folder. “What?”

“Janie has requested that you be involved in our investigation every step of the way, as her special liaison.”

“She did?”

“Yes, she did. If you’re interested.”

“Of course I am. Thank you.”

“You’re technically research now, which makes you Trey’s responsibility.”

Trey looked up at this. “What?”

Marisa smiled. “Her job is keeping Janie Compton happy. Your job is to make sure she does that.”

Trey exhaled slowly. Then he looked back down at his folder. I slid a glance Landon’s way. He had his jaw set so tight you could have chipped flint with it.

Marisa continued. “In fact, that leads me to my last and most important point. We are in the center ring now, people, the main attraction.” She looked at Landon. “As for Steve Simpson, I rehired him on your say-so. Any further failings from that camp and your head will roll. And for God’s sake, clean him up. If I see him in the halls, he’d better be wearing a suit and have real shoes on his feet.”

Marisa stood, laid her palms flat on the table. “Because you’d better understand something, all of you. Mess this one up, and I will have your balls for breakfast. Now get going. I look forward to reading the preliminary reports this afternoon.”

And then she gathered her materials, Yvonne opened the door, and the two of them exited stage left. Landon pulled out his cell phone and began a low, terse conversation, his eyes on me the whole time. Trey stared at his paperwork.

“Correct me if I’m wrong,” I said, “but did you just become the boss of me?”

He underlined something with a highlighter. “It’s not a chain of command relationship. I’m more of a coordinator.”

“Does that mean you get to tell me what to do?”

“Yes.”

He stood up abruptly. I scooped up my folders and stood too, clipping my new ID rather clumsily to my sweater. It read
LIAISON
in neat block script.

“Does it mean I finally get to question suspects?”

“No.”

He cocked his head and frowned at me. Tucking his files under one arm, he reached out with both hands and straightened my ID badge one millimeter. His knuckle grazed my chin.

I kept my mouth shut. And I didn’t say what I was thinking, that regardless of his rule, if suspects presented themselves, I was going to question them. Even if those suspects were the Beaumonts themselves. And no pathetic, photoshopped, slipped-under-the-windshield threats were going to stop me.

Chapter 21

The corporate headquarters of Beaumont Enterprises rose like a steel beanstalk right at the corner of Ponce de Leon and Peachtree, only a few blocks from the Fox Theatre, which still carried the architectural echoes of its former life as a Masonic lodge. The streets and sidewalks mingled separate tributaries—joggers, bicyclists, tourists asking for directions.

Mark Beaumont held court in a top-floor office that had a distinct members-only feel to it. The decorating scheme was earthy, with cinnamon drapes and cocoa carpeting in a vaguely Aztec-looking pattern. His walls, however, functioned as a wall-to-wall press release: thank-you plaques from prominent organizations, smiling handshake shots with various mayors.

And in the center of the commotion, Mark himself. Dressed for press, he sported conservative navy slacks and a photogenic blue shirt. A gaggle of similarly attired men and women surrounded him, each one vying for his attention.

Trey got it, however. Instantly. Mark saw him approaching and headed our way, hand outstretched. People moved aside for him, made clear the path.

“Trey,” he said, smiling. “Marisa told me you’d be here.” He nodded in my direction. “You’re in on this now?”

“I hear I have Janie to thank for it.”

His face sobered. “God, I can’t imagine what she’s going through now. All I can do…well, I’m doing all I can do. I just hope it’s enough.”

At that moment, a young woman touched his elbow and offered him a clipboard. He took it, and they spoke for a few seconds in low discreet tones. Trey’s eyes roamed the room, slowly, and I was willing to bet that he had every face memorized in about four seconds.

I cleared my throat. “Mr. Beaumont?”

“Mark, please.”

I smiled. “Mark. Where can I find Janie?”

“She’s right through there, in Charley’s office.” He clapped Trey on the shoulder. “Come on. Let’s get started.”

Trey turned back to me as he melted into the crowd. “Stay close.”

I felt a prickle. “Why? You think something’s going to happen?”

“No. But I might need you. Or you might need me.” He said this like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Which maybe it was.

“I’ll be right here,” I called. But I was talking to his back.

***

I saw Charley first, seated on a rust-colored loveseat, one arm draped along the back. She’d pulled her hair into a chignon, all piece-ey and messy at the nape, and wore a jacket and pants set in the same hue as the furniture. Janie sat beside her. She’d dressed up too, in a floral dress with a sewn-on vest, her curly hair subdued with thin gold barrettes. She’d put on make-up, but her eyes were red and she was fidgety. She’d twist her fingers together, fiddle with her crucifix, then lay them deliberately in her lap, smoothing out the material. I couldn’t tell if nerves gripped her, or a nicotine fit.

I moved to her side of the loveseat. “Thanks for letting me in on this.”

“We had a deal, remember?” Her eyes dipped, taking in my ID. “They got you all official pretty quick like.”

Charley spoke up. “So you know Kent?”

It seemed odd to hear someone calling Landon by his first name. “We’ve met.”

“Kent’s been with Mark ever since we moved here. But he leaves the grunt work to Trey and what’s-his-name, that curly-headed one?”

“Steve Simpson.”

“Right. That one. They were all working at Beau Elan on Thursday, but Kent was with me that afternoon. He said I might have to testify to that. I told him not to worry, that Mark would make sure he didn’t have any trouble from the authorities.”

I raised an eyebrow at that one, but said nothing. I knew Landon had connections—even Eric had asked him to pull some strings—and it was fast becoming obvious that his connections didn’t mind being used.

Janie indicated the outer office. “So which one’s Trey?”

“Mr. Tall, Dark, and Handsome in the black suit.”

She squinted in that general direction. “I haven’t seen him before.”

“He stays behind the scenes mostly.”

Charley made a noise. “I’ll say. I don’t think he likes natural light.”

She said it with meanness at the edge, and I felt my backbone straighten involuntarily. She watched me, waiting for a response.

Janie watched me too, but without the predatory gleam. “You want to find me later? Maybe we could talk some more?”

She said it nonchalantly, but I detected the hint of something significant behind her words. I started to ask her what was wrong, but before I could, there was a knock at the door.

Landon stuck his head in. “They’re ready to start.”

Behind him I saw Trey. Janie got up, Charley too, and I followed them out. Then I saw it, at the door. As Charley passed Trey, she stopped and looked up at him. He met her eyes, direct and unblinking. No words, no gestures, just this singular moment of eye-to-eye contact, a split second, nothing more. Then she turned her head and kept walking, her jaw tight.

Trey looked at me. “Are you ready?”